A New Life
by Kurokoo
Summary: Matthew Williams was completely forgettable, so when he dies in a car accident, it seems like his life is over. However, years later he finds himself awoken to a new life of excitement and danger, and he's in the middle of something big, whether he wants to be or not. [Hetalia AU warning; Violence, torture, death]


Matthew was never anyone special. He went to work and came home every day except weekends, where he'd sit at home and drink tea with his polar bear-like dog, Kumajiro, or sometimes go for a walk in the park. Most people looked right through him, and he seemed to move through the crowds easily.

In the end, it wasn't a surprise that no one was at his funeral. No one even knew who he was.

He didn't die heroically, and it wasn't tragic. He got hit by a car, his heart stopped, and he died.

Those people on the street with him would never know his name, just that "some guy got hit by a car". Those people who received the organs that made it out of the accident wouldn't think of his name, just that they had been saved because someone donated them.

Matthew Williams was born, he lived, and he died. No one remembered him.

Well, no one except Matthew Williams himself, but that knowledge would remain untouched for years and years to come. Actually, it would be almost two decades before he would finally be around to remember himself again.

His mind was fuzzy, as most minds are after a long time of not working. He felt strange, as though he was foreign to himself. His arms and legs seemed somehow… bigger than he last remembered them. Actually, he last remembered them flailing in the air and then hitting the concrete, yet there wasn't a bit of pain.

A light was swimming in his vision, but it was very blurry. Matthew wore glasses, and he knew he wasn't wearing them, but he couldn't recall it being quite this blurry without them.

He began to realize that his head felt tight, but there was no pain. Just numbness throughout his body. Voices were trying to speak to him, but he couldn't make out the words. He just stared at the light above and felt the cool calmness, as though he were resting underwater.

Then all at once, he surfaced. The world was still blurry, but the words suddenly made sense. He was very disoriented, and he couldn't make any clear thoughts just yet, but he did understand the people around him.

"He's awake," someone said next to him. Did they have a French accent? "I can't tell how successful the operation will be, and it would be best not to move him, but-"

"But we need to get out of here!" Another spoke up. That was definitely a British accent. "Come on, help me carry him to the helicopter."

All right, slowly Matthew's mind was starting to come back, and thoughts, while very blurry and drowsy, were starting to appear. So he was alive? Okay, that was something.

The two people, blondes he guessed from their blurry figures, but he couldn't make much else out, pulled him up and half-dragged him off the table where he had been laying and down the hallway, up some stairs. There were loud voices from somewhere else farther below, but they kept moving.

"Bloody hell…" the Brit hissed. "Why can't they leave us alone?! This will ruin our plan if they find out he's alive."

"Calm down, mon ami," The Frenchman said in a hushed tone. "There's enough blood for them to still believe he's dead. For now, we must worry about getting out of here."

Wait, who's dead? Who's they anyways? Were they talking about Matthew? Why would they be doing that?

Matthew was going to form words, but just then, the voices got all too loud, and there was gunfire.

"Shit!" The Brit said. "Hurry up!"

"I'm trying!" The other snapped. "He's heavy!"

They soon stumbled onto what could only be the roof of a building. The gunfire continued, but they dragged Matthew forwards anyways, into the black vehicle that was most certainly a helicopter by the sound of it.

"Hurry, Kiku!" The Brit said, before returning the gunfire with the Frenchman by his side, leaving Matthew on the floor of the helicopter, too weak to pull himself up. Instead, he let out a low groan while the helicopter lifted slowly above the ground.

The pain was starting to come, filling his head with a burning fire. Soon after, the sharp pain in his leg told him that the guns hadn't completely missed.

"You're just a walking target today, aren't you?" The Brit said, rolling Matthew over and tending to his wound while the Frenchman continued to shoot back at their assailants.

"Huh…." He grumbled, holding his head and closing his eyes. God it hurt.

"Oh, right, your glasses," the other blonde said, pushing a pair of spectacles onto Matthew's face. Suddenly, everything was clear.

Two men crouched over him, one with light blonde hair to his shoulders, the other with short, cropped, dirty brown hair and the largest eyebrows Matthew had ever seen on any man. There were two figures at the front of the helicopter, both with dark hair, but he couldn't make out much more than that.

"How are you feeling, Alfred?" The man with big eyebrows asked, green eyes travelling up to meet his as he worked on stopping the bleeding in Matthew's calf.

Matthew stared, unable to comprehend what was happening. Guns, strange men, a helicopter? And who was he talking to?

After a long pause, it dawned on Matthew that this British man was referring to him. He glanced around at the strangers, thinking they must have the wrong person, but they seemed sincerely looking at him with familiarity he couldn't match. Well… here it goes…

"Who's Alfred?" He asked, voice hoarse and weak. Their faces dropped and slowly Matthew realized that something was terribly amiss.


End file.
